Page 1 of Full Moon Frenzy

Part 1

Trapp

Did you just send me the link to your anal sunning appointment?

The industrial-sized tray of lemonade cups he carried bobbled momentarily as the text message flashed across his wrist. Trapp squinted for a moment of confusion, hastily returning his attention to keeping the overladen tray steady against the tide of bodies already filling the square. He’d barely covered ten feet before his path was blocked by a goblin with wild red curls, popping out from a silent auction table as if she were spring-loaded and had been waiting for him.

“Trapp, I can’t thank you enough for the help with setup. I told Principal Wingrup this week that I knew I could count on you to lend a hand. She wasn’t convinced because you’re not a parent, but I knew better. The banners look perfect. And look — you’re still here, running the dunk tank!” She finished with a satisfied hmph, beaming up at him.

Another text buzzed at his wrist, perfectly in his line of sight as he gripped the tray with white knuckles.

This might come as a shock, but I’m not interested in Vitamin D blasting my perineum

Trapp returned the goblin’s smile with a practiced, gleaming white grin, ignoring his watch. “I’d love to take singular credit, Marva, but it would get back to the chief if I did. Don’t go getting me in any trouble. I do that well enough on my own.”

The goblin laughed, moving back to her table as he twinkled, a perfectly choreographed ballet to which he knew all the steps.

Especially if you’ve got your ankles behind your head in the next room

The texts from his brother moved across the miniature screen like a theater marquee, making him roll his eyes before he was accosted once more.

“Trapp, what do we have to do to get you on the dunk tank? I’ve got a twenty with your name on it.”

Another beaming smile, the laugh that accompanied it as bright as the twinkle in his eyes as he paused once more, grinning down. The sheep-faced woman who owned the coffeeshop snapped the aforementioned bill between pinched fingers, waggling her brows at him.

“Xenna, are you trying to give one of these old folks a heart attack? Don’t do that to me. I’m on an EMS rotation for the rest of the month. I’ll be dripping wet and giving CPR.”

“Why would they?! No one said you had to take your clothes off,” she laughed. “But if you wanted to . . . this is a fundraiser, right? Show a little skin for a good cause. Send next year’s grads on the best trip of their lives.”

Trapp laughed again, continuing with his tray. “Mhm. I’m telling Reg.”

The sheepwoman continued to laugh as he pushed through the crowd, keeping his smile in place as his name was called out twice more from different directions. The office manager at the community center, a lifeguard from the pool. He winked at the troll from the Food Gryphon and kicked a soccer ball in his path without letting his tray tip.

“I didn’t think the fire department handled lemonade duty,” a passing kitsune tittered, her arms stacked with cups.

“They do when the boosters are making it,” he answered gaily, right on cue.

If life were a movie, Trapp Hemming had found himself cast as the star of a PG-rated small-town parable, one about local heroes and the value of community, and he never missed a line.

Around them, Cambric Creek had abandoned all pretense of moderation. The school boosters had somehow transformed the central three blocks of Main Street into something that felt less like a fundraiser and more like a county fair. A good thing, as there was nothing the community loved more than the opportunity to eat slightly overpriced food that had been cooked in the back of a truck, as they wandered around outdoors.

Banners emblazoned with the faces of each graduating senior hung from the lampposts — banners he’d hung himself, as Wick, a laid-back werebear, slowly drove him in a cherry picker around the square. The flower beds circling the gazebo were planted in the school colors, streamers fluttered between storefronts, shop windows were streaked with temporary paint in maroon and green and gold messages of community pride wishing the new graduates luck. Trapp wasn’t sure if the level of service to optics was commendable or insane. Either way, it fit the script.

The park in the center of town was full of tents and concessions for the annual Senior Send-off fundraiser event, hosted by the current graduating class as a parting gift to the following year’s class to pay for their senior trip. Food trucks ringed the block, and the air smelled of spun sugar and charcoal smoke. Barricades had been erected at either end of the central lot, blocking through traffic. All around the expanse of green, carnival-style games were operated by each branch of the town hall, with elected municipal leaders handing out darts to throw at balloons and ping-pong balls to toss into bowls of rubber ducks.

The firehouse was running the dunk tank, and so far, he’d managed to go the entire day without mounting the platform. The evening carried the warmth of late spring, but the heat of summer was still weeks away, and the light breeze made the thought of being dropped into the hose-filled tank especially unappealing. No time to get wet, I’ve got my hands full.

Arriving at last at the tent where half of the firehouse crowded, he slid the unspilled tray of glasses to the picnic table’s surface, barely straightening before hands shot out, emptying the tray with an almost comical speed. One of the hands belonged to a grey-skinned troll, a brand-new EMT in the department and his ride-along partner for the month.

Trapp’s eyes narrowed.

“Oleg, what are you doing sitting on your ass? You’ve been here for what? Two weeks? Sitting requires at least a two-year commitment. See if Grannock needs a break from that dunk tank.”

The troll sputtered, but none of the other members of Cambric Creek’s Fire and Rescue came to his aid. Trapp raised an eyebrow, biting back a satisfied grin when the troll pushed to his feet, trudging off in the direction of the firehouse’s contribution to the cause with slumped shoulders.

“You learned that look from your mom,” one of his older compatriots laughed, an ogre who was of an age with Trapp’s parents. The whole table turned, watching as Oleg took his place on the tank’s stand with a mournful expression.

“Maybe so,” Trapp agreed, snorting when the very first ball thrown by one of the waiting children found its target, dropping the new EMT unceremoniously into the tank of water. The whole tent cheered, hooting in laughter.